A Discovery In A Dark Alley
by KeepingAmused
Summary: Allan realises that there's more to a scent or touch, than ever before. Before he knows it - his heart has tunnelled deeper than he intended and there's no heading back. Series 1. AllanDjaq with a hint of Holy Land nostalgia and a smidge of WillDjaq


"'Ere, is this what you're lookin' for?"

Djaq's excited eyes met the delicate clove, the market swimming and bustling in her peripheral vision, as she focused in on the small spice pinched carelessly between Allan's fingers. Those pale fingers grew golden, the background hum of milkmaids burst into a snake charmer's melody as nostalgia flooded through her system. All the weak, creamy grey of England became tangerine and blood red and the scent of thyme became cinnamon, saffron...clove.

"Is tha' it?"

Allan's crude voice split her fantasy apart. Djaq's glazed eyes narrowed.

"Yes," the Saracen woman snapped, snatching the dark crumb of home from her comrade and tucking it possessively into her pocket. "Let's go," she stated.

As the pair, discretely hooded from Nottingham's eyes, waded through the tedious stream of creamy grey cloth – Allan held his hand to his face and wrinkled his nose. A trace of clove lingered on his fingers. "That stuff still stinks," he mumbled.

"The scent of the spice," Djaq stated coolly, "Remains on one's skin for a long time."

Allan cocked an eyebrow and turned away, imitating his comrade's lucid accent - "_De scent of spice remains on de skin..._" he mocked, staggering lazily beside her.

Rolling her eyes, Djaq pushed her way past the wooden fence nearing Locksley, leaving the barricade out of Allan's way – gladly watching the discomfort on his face as she waited and whispered "Ladies first."

"Not bein' funny -" Allan began, his cloak brushing past the huts.

"You never are," His companion snorted.

"Yeah," Allan dismissed her remark with a wave of his hand, "But what you gonna do with spices, eh? You can't even cook."

Before she could glare, Djaq spotted a familiar, wide-eyed figure in the crack of daylight between two huts. She stopped as Much placed a finger to his lips and made an exaggerated gesture with his other hand, nodding his head in the direction their leader was most probably taking some sort of drastic measures.

"Wha'?" Allan squinted, "What's he sayin'?"

"We wait in the alley. Robin is finishing business," Djaq sighed.

Staring wistfully into the white helping of daylight, she pressed her back against the wooden wall of one of the huts whilst Allan fidgeted with his cloak. There were enough clouds in England's sky to drench all of the Holy Land's parched soil. Djaq shut her eyes bitterly. _Enough to replenish the dying thousands in Jerusalem's drought._

She could feel Allan's restless body against hers, both of them cramped in the space between the houses, the lewd comments dying to escape his lips but trained to stay imprisoned. "Cosy, innit?" he chuckled, not being able to ignore the close proximity of her disguised breasts.

"Shut up," Djaq groaned, praying that they wouldn't be hiding in such a position for any longer.

"Ere," Allan pried his arms from his sides, managing to rest them on his hips. "Why you in such huff, today?"

"What is this 'huff'?" The Saracen frowned, sideways, as to avoid colliding their faces together.

"In a mood, all angry and that," Allan described. He paused, considering her face for a moment. Her dark lips were in a tight line – as usual, but those warm eyes were unfocused and distant. "You feelin' homesick, because of that twig?"

"It is not a twig," Djaq hissed, "It is a spice."

"At least I found it for ya," Allan sighed, his back strained from the unforgiving space for their bodies. He wondered where he should place his arms to release the pain and decided to take a risk and place a hand on the wall, on either side of Djaq's body. She didn't flinch or knee him in the groin, to his relief.

"Thank you for the spice, Allan."

_What? Did she just thank him?_

"S'alright," Allan didn't bother holding back the pleased grin that spread across his lips. All women like to be treated once in while, he remembered. It had been some time since he had come across any women, in fact, and Djaq happened to resemble something of the sort...

But she didn't, really.

No woman he'd ever known ever sharpened swords or leapt with joy at the sight of a smelly piece of Eastern spice. No fair maiden in Rochdale or Locksley wore dusty breeches and rough jackets over their chest. And most women had golden braids cascading down their spines, instead of a cropped, dark turf over their crown.

But no woman Allan ever knew had ever managed to sleep on the forest ground without a complaint, or stand – in awe – of English rain. That was another thing that Will had pointed out to him, and it baffled him as well – _What was this obsession Djaq had with a bit of drizzle? _But, as the crystal raindrops gathered in murky rivers outside the sheltered alley way, Allan couldn't help but admire the way the rain reflected in her own pools of golden brown...He'd been around, but he had never come across a woman with such large, expressive eyes...And such thick, dark lashes.

Silent, for the first time in his life, Allan surrendered himself to the feel of Djaq's body against his own. That hidden femininity exposed, thrilling him, as he reveled in the doughy heat from her masked chest. But, alongside that small hint of animal desire, Allan felt more amazement at the fact that she was truly more woman than he had ever imagined. Suddenly, the scent of Eastern clove swept over him in a giddying haze as his blue eyes searched hers in a ridiculous wash of hunger.

"We must go."

Her emotionless voice pierced through the eerie silence as the soft warmth of her body slid from under his. Allan didn't move, still shocked by the burning emotions still pouring out of his body as easily as Locksley's sudden torrent. His mouth still paralysed – unable to form words.

"Come on," Djaq's hand grabbed the neck of his cloak, dragging him into the daylight and violent thrash of cold water.

"Alright, alright," Allan croaked, "Don't get your undergarments in a twist, love."

Smirking into the rain, the trickster followed the Saracen towards their destination. Her body was as straight as board, her arms swinging swiftly. But, sheltering his scented hand from the downpour, and remembering the contours of her body embedded in his own, Allan knew better...


End file.
